


Polish Your Armor and Take Up Your Mask

by WindTossedCourage



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Complete, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Minor Violence, No Canon Supports Means It’s Free Real Estate, POV Dorothea Arnault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindTossedCourage/pseuds/WindTossedCourage
Summary: "...vulnerability is a weakness that can easily be exploited, so it’s safer to hide those feelings away and wear your training, your goals, your family name, your bad habits as armor rather than admit weakness.”-When Dorothea transfers to the Blue Lion class, she finds a friend in Ashe, a boy in whom she sees herself mirrored.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dorothea Arnault & Mercedes von Martritz, Dorothea Arnault & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	1. C

**Author's Note:**

> I have been thinking about the potential friendship between these two for months. I really struggled through writing this one, and it went through some heavy restructuring between the first and second drafts as a result. Despite that, I decided to toss it up here un-beta'd, so feedback is appreciated.

Had it not been for the professor’s invitation, Dorothea would have never transferred to the Blue Lions class with its overabundance of Faerghus nobility and their vice of indulging in empty flatteries and pretentious mottos.

The gossip crept through the cracks in the door and trailed after her as she found a place at the edge of the training grounds. The whispers crawled like shadows from the edges of the room, spilling from the lips of nameless, faceless students.

_Another Crestless commoner?_

_How’d she end up here?_

_How else? Cozying up with someone with a name and with money._

_Probably cozied up with the professor too, to get in this class._

_Cozy up? What a quaint euphemism. Did you pick that one up in Fhirdiad?_

Dorothea kept her face forward, her eyes trained on the center of the room, where the professor and Dimitri examined a rack of wooden training swords. Her fingers knitted together and unknitted briefly before she clasped her hands together to still her fidgeting.

If she did not look at the others, if she did not acknowledge the whispers and stares, it was easy enough to pretend she stood on a stage, putting on a performance before an expectant audience hidden within the darkness.

She was far from the only performer though. In every large group, she’d discovered, there were always a select few that drew the masses’ attention. The lion’s share, as it were, if one so wished to use a more delightfully fitting term. This class was no exception to the rule, and she had already taken note of which of her fellow classmates had already claimed their roles as the central performers in this particular piece.

The professor clapped to get everyone’s attention. “All right, everyone, listen up. We’ll be breaking off into pairs to do some sparring. Find partners. Grab swords.” She gestured vaguely. “Swing them. The sword, not your partner. You all know where Professor Manuela’s office is, but try not to hurt each other. I’ll be coming around to check your forms.”

The room exploded into a flurry of activity, with students laughing and calling to each other in hopes of finding a training partner.

Dorothea stood alone.

“Ah, excuse me!” A short boy with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose stood in front of her with two training swords wrapped in his arms. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he said. Fumbling briefly with the swords, he managed to tuck them under one arm so he could hold out his free hand. “Ashe Ubert.”

“Don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting anything important. Just a daydream, that’s all,” she said, accepting the handshake. “Dorothea Arnault.”

“Ah, it’s you! The professor asked me to spar with you today.”

“That so?” She glanced over Ashe’s head at the professor, who appeared to be watching them out of the corner of her eye. She dipped her chin briefly at Dorothea before she turned her attention to another pair of students. “I hope you’re not too upset about being forced to work with the new transfer.”

“Nonsense! I’d actually been hoping for a chance to speak with you. I just figured that, since we’ve seen each other around the monastery but have never officially introduced ourselves, I would come remedy that and welcome you to the Blue Lions class!” He held out one of the swords. “A traditional Faerghus welcome.”

“Sweet of you.” She accepted the offered weapon and weighed it in her hand. “Perhaps we should get started before we get into trouble with the professor?”

They took up their positions opposite each other and began slowly working their way through various forms to warm up. “You know,” he said, glancing down to check his footing. “I’d heard a rumor about you, and I was hoping you could clear things up for me.”

Oh. That was a familiar lead-in. She pulled out a practiced smile and straightened up, resting her sword on her shoulder and twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Oh? That’s a bit of an ominous line. Is that also a traditional Faerghus welcome?”

His eyes widened and he held up his hands. “Nothing like that! What I meant was, you were an opera singer, correct?”

“Yes, with the Mittelfrank Opera Company in Enbarr.”

His eyes grew starry. “Is it true that you once starred in an adaptation of Loog and the Maiden of Wind?”

A small “huh?” slipped out before she could catch herself, but she quickly recovered and said, “It’s been a few years, but yes, I did! In fact, that was the first role I had to learn swordplay for.”

“That’s incredible!”

Several students glanced over at them, their grins sharpening as they leaned over and whispered to one another. Their stares sent pinpricks scattering across Dorothea’s arms. “Speaking of being on stage, I believe we have an audience now,” she whispered to Ashe. “Shall we give them a show?”

He frowned in confusion and his eyes cut to the side, his frown deepening slightly as he caught sight of the onlookers. He nodded.

Stepping forward and letting her grip on the sword hilt slacken, she flicked her wrist, carving a neat pattern into the air with her blade. She slashed across, Ashe dodging out of the way. Using the momentum of her swing, she spun and brought her sword down in an overhead strike.

Their blades clattered together as he brought up his sword. “Yes, I can picture it perfectly!” he said, parrying her strike and lashing out with one of his own. “You as the titular Maiden, the unlikely swordswoman who escapes from the tower where she was held hostage and joins Loog on a quest to liberate her village from a dastardly bandit king!”

She twirled out of the way, the wooden blade glancing off her side harmlessly. “A story practically fated to be performed on the stage! Drama! Action! Romance! Charming heroes and diabolical villains!” The clash of their blades punctuated each word. “And surprisingly faithful to the source material! The playwright took extra care to weave in lines straight from the book.”

They broke apart. Sweat dripped down Ashe’s temples, and he ran his sleeve across his forehead. “Yes, exactly! It’s my absolute favorite story!” 

Dorothea giggled. “I take it you’re a fan of opera?”

“More like a fan of tales of chivalry.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve actually never been. Lonato once talked about taking me to see a performance in Fhirdiad, but it’s rather far from our territory and he’s a very busy man. It’s quite all right though. I’m more than satisfied with my copy of Loog and the Maiden of Wind.” He leapt forward, closing the gap between them, and swung his blade up.

A rush of wind tickled her cheek. “Lonato?”

“Lord Lonato of House Gaspard, my adoptive father. A true knight and the very embodiment of chivalry! I hope to one day be just like him!” He surged forward, attempting to drive her back.

“A knight, huh?” She sidestepped him. Her hand darted out and snagged his sleeve, and, hooking her foot around his ankle, she pulled him off-balance with a quick tug. He wobbled, and then toppled to the floor in a heap, his sword clattering across the floor. Dorothea leveled the tip of her sword at his chest. “Any last words, Sir Ashe?”

“It was an honor fighting you. I don’t know about honorable though. Tripping someone during a fight seems a bit like a dirty move.”

She laughed. “You have my sincerest apologies. I pray that your next of kin will not seek me out in hopes of avenging your name.” And then, grasping the hilt in both hands, she stepped forward and wedged the tip of the sword between his arm and torso so that the hilt jutted up.

“That was so cool!” he whispered, before groaning dramatically and letting his head loll to the side.

Finally, the silence of the room washed over her—the hush that lingered in the space between the fall of the curtain and the rise of the audience. There would be no applause for her here, not on this stage, but she would certainly occupy their thoughts long after she made her exit.

“Huh.” The professor stood overlooking Ashe’s prone form, her chin resting on her fist thoughtfully. “Excellent footwork, Dorothea. The actual strikes seemed to have more flash than power though.”

“It’s really more stunt work meant for the stage.”

“And Ashe.” The professor knelt down. “Good job holding your own with those dodges and counters. Try not to trip on the battlefield.”

Sighing, he sat up, sword hilt still poking out from under his arm. “Noted.” He accepted their outstretched hands, and they hauled him to his feet.

“Take a moment to catch your breath.” The professor waved a hand at the other students. “The rest of you, back to your sparring.”

As the professor moved over to the next pair, Dorothea leaned over. “So, Lord Lonato. Tell me, is he even more chivalrous than Sir Loog?”

“Of course! Lonato took me and my younger siblings in several years ago when we had nowhere else to go after the death of our parents.”

Something twisted in her chest. “He sounds like a very kind man,” she murmured. Absently, she pressed a fist to her chest, as if trying to rub away the familiar ache that lingered within. There was no pretending that this sensation was foreign to her, for it was one she was all too familiar with. It was the same feeling that crept in when she curled up in her bed in the dark, or when she found herself in a crowd surrounded by people who surely all had a home to call their own and people they loved and who loved them in return. It was the small, quiet, selfish part of her that she’d never managed to subdue, the part of her that longed for the very same thing all those people took for granted. Joining Mittelfrank, joining the Academy—everything she did was in hopes of somehow securing a stable future for herself. Yet here was someone else exactly like her who had somehow managed to grab hold of the one thing she’d never managed to find—family.

“He’s the best!” His smile vanished beneath a look of concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

She was slipping.

Plucking her sword from his grasp, she took up her position opposite him, getting back into character. “Just fine! Shall we get back to training?”


	2. B

Dorothea was not typically one to pray, nor was she one to frequent the cathedral outside of choir practice, but after the mission at Magdred Way, she decided she could make an exception or two, just this once.

But how exactly did one pray to a goddess who was as good as deaf, content with sitting idly by as her children wept over the cold bodies of their loved ones, begging for some sort of miracle?

Church bells echoed throughout the cathedral, drowning out the prayers of the faithful. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head but did not close her eyes, instead opting to stare at the elaborate tilework beneath her feet. A small sigh escaped her. “Dear Goddess,” she began, “I wish—ah, pray that both the dead and the living find the peace they’re looking for.” 

“Dorothea?” came a voice at her elbow.

She whirled around. “Mercie! You’ve got to be careful sneaking up on people like that. They might just mistake you for a vision from the goddess herself!”

Mercedes tittered. Sunlight played off her hair, lending it a soft golden glow. “Oh no, it’s just me.” She tilted her head. “It’s rare to see you here. Have you come to pray, or did you have other plans as well?”

“Perceptive as always. It looks like you’ve caught me,” Dorothea said, glancing over her shoulder.

Mercedes followed her gaze to where a boy slumped forward in a pew, his face buried in his hands. “So you also came to check on Ashe,” she murmured. “Dedue and Felix came by earlier. Dedue claimed to have a message to deliver from Dimitri, but the paper he handed me was completely blank. Felix just stood in the doorway and glared at everyone.”

So the others had had similar plans—linger for only a few moments without getting too close so Ashe could have his space to grieve. That would certainly be the easiest thing to do, wouldn’t it? “Has anyone actually, you know, talked to Ashe instead of just lurking nearby?” Dorothea asked. “To see how he’s doing?”

“Other than the professor? I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid not.” Mercedes carded her fingers through her hair. “In Faerghus, especially among the nobility, grief is traditionally considered a private thing. They see it as a vulnerability, and vulnerability is a weakness that can easily be exploited, so it’s safer to hide those feelings away and wear your training, your goals, your family name, your bad habits as armor rather than admit weakness.”

“So they just let people suffer in silence? I’m sorry, but that seems unbearably cruel.”

Mercedes sighed. “It is. Not everyone thinks that way of course, but unfortunately, tradition is hard to break. And I think some people would prefer to maintain ignorance if it meant not having to confront their own faults and struggles.” Mercedes gave her a soft smile, but there was something unusually sharp and probing about her gaze that made Dorothea’s skin crawl.

Dorothea angled her face to the stained-glass window high overhead. “I’ve never really understood the nobility. However,” she said, looking back to Mercedes, “I’m not here for their sake, now am I?”

Were Dorothea a less practical woman, it would have been easy to pretend that the soldiers hidden within the fog at Magdred Way were simply restless ghosts roaming through the mists, rather than insurgents led by the man who Ashe spoke so highly of. She found it difficult to reconcile the image of a kind father with the angry, bitter man who was prepared to fight his own son and sacrifice the lives of innocent people for the sake of his beliefs. “Ashe?”

He looked up at her, his eyes red and bleary. His hair stuck to his forehead in a damp smear, and dark circles ringed his eyes. His uniform was rumpled and creased in odd places, clear evidence of the last week he’d spent holed up in the cathedral.

“Hey there.”

He sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “If you’ve come to invite me to train or study or go pick up girls to take my mind off things, I’m not exactly in the mood.”

As tempting as that last one was, she shook her head. “I came to see if you wanted some company. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here to listen.” She laced and unlaced her fingers briefly before clasping them tightly against her waist. “I’ve discovered that in situations like this, the last thing I want is to be left alone.”

“Huh,” he muttered, not quite looking her in the eye. After a second, he scooted over to make space for her on the pew.

They sat together in silence. A warm breeze swept in through the open doors, the wind adding its whispers to those of the parishioners. Monks paced back and forth, their footsteps a staccato beat keeping time in a place seemingly immune to time’s passage. Her fingers tapped against her thigh absently, matching their rhythm. It was easy to see why Mercedes spent so much time in here.

“Please don’t trouble yourself by staying with me.”

Her fingers stilled. “Hm?”

Ashe kept his eyes trained on the floor as he spoke. “Your time is precious. There are far better things you could be doing than this.”

She reached over and straightened his twisted hood. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s my time and I can do as I please with it, and if I choose to spend that time with a friend, then I will. That’s what makes it precious to me.”

“Who did you lose?”

She stiffened, and then quickly tried to hide the motion by brushing dust off her skirt. “What do you mean?”

“There has to be reason why you decided to come over here when no one else has. From the way you talk, it sounds like you’ve been in my position before. So who was it?”

For a moment, Dorothea was a small girl again, gaunt and barefoot, kneeling over a woman’s icy body, twisting her tiny fingers in the threadbare fabric of her mother’s dress as she begged her to get back up, not to leave her alone.

“Well. It appears my acting skills have gotten rusty during my time here.” She tucked her trembling hands under her legs. “My mother died when I was little. Growing up, it was just me and her for so long, so losing her—” Her voice cracked and broke off. “Talking about myself at a time like this, when you’re dealing with all of this.” She shook her head, disgusted at herself. “I can’t even imagine.”

To lose your parents at such a young age, and then to get a glimpse of happy life with a new family only to watch as that too is snuffed out in an instant? Were some people just cursed to live their lives in a series of sharp, violent upheavals with no hope of any sort of stability? What guarantee did anyone have that their lives would be without struggle? What if she one day succeeded in her goal and found someone to care for her, what if she finally secured a future for herself, only to see it snatched away? Where would that leave her?

Alone yet again.

How selfish, to think only of herself when someone else was suffering, as if it were some sort of competition. They had been both pitched into dark, unforgiving waters, and the only thing left for her to do was to paddle so she could reach him before they both drowned.

There was a long pause as he fiddled with the strings of his hood. “I’m sorry,” Ashe said at last. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that to share.”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.” She sighed. “Enough about me. How are you holding up?”

“I just—” He shrugged and threw his hands in the air. “I’m not? I don’t know what to do. Lonato might not have been the man I thought he was, but now that he’s gone, I don’t think I’ll ever really know.” The late-afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass window, scattering squares of jeweled light across his face and hair. “You know,” he continued, “when my parents died, in a way, it almost seemed easier somehow, because I didn’t have to think about how empty and lost I felt. I just had to focus on making sure my little siblings were taken care of.”

“Where are they now?”

“They’re still at Castle Gaspard. I don’t know what’s going to happen to them.” He shook his head. “I should be there with them instead of here feeling sorry for myself.”

She plucked her hat off her head and fiddled with the brim. “It really never does get easier, huh? You just get better at wearing the mask expected of you, and if you’re not careful, you run the risk of forgetting your own face. Please, just remember—no one is expecting you to pick yourself up immediately and carry on like nothing happened. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, try and convince you otherwise that your feelings don’t matter.”

A shaky sigh escaped him.

“Come here.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Though they may have some trouble showing it properly, our classmates care about you too. They’re doing the best they can, considering their—how can I put this delicately—emotional intolerance. Ah, there you go. Some people around here get horrible stomach aches at the thought of dealing with feelings.”

He chuckled. “It helps to have friends who are willing to reach out and make the burden a bit more bearable though,” he said, his voice thick.

“Take however long you need. We’ll be right here with you.”


	3. A - A+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter focuses on the aftermath of a major act of violence and depicts some graphic imagery.

“There have been reports of bandits being sighted near some of the small villages in Charon territory, north of the monastery,” the professor said. “No doubt taking advantage of everyone being distracted by the war. I need you two to scout ahead and report back before we take our troops through there. I’d hate for us to get caught in some sort of ambush.”

“You can count on us,” Ashe said as he checked his quiver, already making preparations for the road.

“Dorothea? Do you remember the signals we worked out?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “A flare for all clear. A single bolt of lighting if there’s a bit of trouble, but nothing we can’t handle. A meteor dropping out of the sky means send help immediately.” 

“Excellent job,” the professor said with a smile, as if this were merely a classroom lecture instead of a meeting on a potential battlefield. “We won’t be far behind you. Be safe, you two.”

Gray clouds swollen with rain hung low in the sky as they rode side by side across the foothills that made up Charon territory. Dorothea’s horse splashed through a puddle, sending up another spray of icy mud across the creature’s flank.

Ashe’s eyes had grown massive at the sight of her new black armor when she met him at the edge of camp. “You look just like a proper knight!”

“Oh, is that so?” The professor had insisted that she work on her riding skills and try for a calvary class to keep up with the many mounted soldiers that permeated their ranks. She wiggled her fingers, trying out the flexibility of the new gauntlets. While she could not deny the air of authority and mystique the black armor lent her, it also marked her undeniably as a soldier and a lady of war. “You’re looking rather knightly yourself these days. Shall we have ourselves an adventure that will be told through the ages then, Sir Ashe?”

Now, Ashe stopped short, swearing under his breath. “There,” he said, pointing off in the distance. “About a mile off.”

Barely visible against the swirling storm clouds, a tendril of smoke plumed up from the horizon. “Oh no,” she murmured. Her gauntlets creaked as her grip tightened on the reins. She nudged her horse into a canter, and then a gallop. The foothills faded into a blur as she galloped towards the smoke. A drop of icy rain splattered against the bridge of her nose, quickly followed by several more against her brow, her cheeks, her chin, until she was completely drenched. A handful of buildings loomed in the distance, rapidly increasing in size as they approached.

They reached the burned-out stable on the village outskirts first. The building had partially collapsed, the remaining pieces of the scorched frame reaching into the sky like blackened fingers. Several charred corpses lay half-submerged in a mire of mud and ash and blood. Dorothea’s stomach lurched at the scent of burnt flesh, and she clamped a hand over her mouth and nose to block out the smell.

The village itself consisted of little more than a dozen stone buildings huddled together, as if they too were trying to stay warm and dry in the storm. The downpour muted the sound of their horses’ hooves on the cobblestone road as they rode through the empty streets. Doors hung off their hinges, revealing darkened interiors. A man slumped against the doorframe of one home, his arms twisted at impossible angles, his head tilted far too far to the right. Blood pooled beneath him and dripped into the gutter, mixing with the stream of rainwater rushing between the buildings.

Ashe clambered down to press his fingertips to the man’s throat, and after a moment, he gave up and stepped over the body to check inside. He returned ashen-faced, shaking his head.

Dorothea slid off her horse, her hand darting to the creature’s neck for support as the ground pitched beneath her feet. “We need to signal the professor and the others to let them know to hold,” she muttered, her voice sounding distant and foreign to her own ears.

“Will they be able to see anything with this storm?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I’ll make sure they can.”

Outside of the village, mud rushed up around her ankles as she slogged to the center of an empty field, the season’s crop torched by the bandits. White energy crackled in her palms as she raised her hands and etched a pattern in the air. A bitter taste coated the inside her mouth, and her breath caught in her throat as the air around her grew thick and stifling. Arcs of light leapt around her as the energy continued to build.

What did her audience of one see? A tempest, a force of nature challenging the goddess herself? A warrior to be feared in battle? Or just a mere woman, numb to the world around her?

Bracing her feet, she released the lightning spell into the sky, the world exploding into white light and splintering into pieces. The bolt of pure destruction clawed its way through the darkness, forking in every direction in search of a target and finding none.

And for a moment, she just stood there, ears ringing, as she watched rain drip through her fingers and run down her wrist. Her hands trembled, a sharp tingling sensation shooting from fingertip to elbow. She shook them out and clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to regain the feeling in them. Recently, it took longer and longer to recover from using her magic.

Ashe appeared at her side, more phantom than man in the storm. His hair, darkened by the rain, hung into his eyes. “I’m sure that if there were any bandits hanging around here, you just sent them running with that display,” he said. A trace of a smile flickered across his face but quickly faded, unable to take root. He sighed and shoved his soaked hair off his forehead. “There’s still a chance there could be survivors. We should continue searching on foot.”

In the next home, they found a young woman, no older than them, lying in the doorway to the bedroom, her broken body wrapped around the body of a small child. A man lay a few feet away, his hands reaching for his family. Burns covered his arms and chest.

In the fourth home, an older man had been propped up against the wall facing the doorway, as if he had been waiting to welcome them in. The hilt of a dagger jutted out of his chest.

At the seventh home, the door had been barred from the outside. Black scorch marks crept along the frame, and the smell of smoke and burnt flesh hung thick in the air.

The routine was simple. Break down the door. Make a sweep of the building in search of the survivors. Respectfully avert your eyes from those of the dead. Mark an X on the door as an admittance of failure. Repeat.

They worked in silence. As they moved down the row of houses, Dorothea couldn’t help but notice the rigid set of Ashe’s shoulders, the distant look in his eyes, and the sluggish movements of his hands when he dragged the head of one of his arrows across the door, as he were moving through a dream—or a memory. She remembered once hearing from Dimitri about the plague that had ravaged Faerghus years before, wiping out entire villages and leaving thousands orphaned and without family.

“Hey, Ashe,” she said. “Why don’t we take a break? If we’re not careful, we might rust out here.” Perhaps, she might’ve once said that with a light, teasing tone, but now the best she could manage was tired resignation.

“I think there are more pressing matters than our armor,” he said, not looking at her.

“I know. There always are. But refusing to rest and take care of yourself will only do more harm than good in the long run.”

He paused, his arrow hovering an inch above the wood, and then his shoulders slumped. “Okay. Go on. I’ll be there once I finish up with this.”

“I’ll see if I can find us somewhere dry.”

She slipped between two houses, finding herself in the mouth of a narrow alleyway, the high walls of the houses blocking most of the wind and rain. Further down, a massive stack of wooden crates had toppled across the path, and a series of steps led up to the side entrance. They were just wide enough for someone to stretch out and rest, provided no one came out of the building and chased them off for dirtying up the place. If that didn’t work, those crates would make a perfect shelter if they were stacked just right. She blinked. Her vision had grown hazy in the gloom of memory. There, half hidden in the refuse, she saw a girl with dark matted hair huddled next to the steps, trying to keep dry and warm.

Oh.

She tugged off a gauntlet and rubbed at her eyes. She had come quite some ways from the streets of Enbarr, hadn’t she?

When she opened her eyes, the girl was still there.

At the sound of Dorothea’s gasp, the girl’s head shot up, and she scrambled to her feet, her dark eyes wide. “Go away! Leave me alone!” She held a splintered piece of wood in a white-knuckled grip, the tip sharpened to a jagged point. She couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve.

Dorothea held up her hands. “It’s okay! Don’t worry, we’re here to help.”

The girl cringed back, pointing her makeshift weapon at Dorothea. What did the girl see when she looked at her? Another bandit? A faceless soldier? With all the needless blood spilled these days, Dorothea supposed that there was very little difference between the two in the eyes of the innocents who had suffered at the hands of both.

Dorothea knelt down, setting her sheathed sword on the ground in front of her and resting her hands on her knees. “It’s okay if you don’t trust me. I don’t think I’d trust me either, meeting like this. My name is Dorothea, and I’m here with my friend, Ashe. We were sent here from Garreg Mach Monastery to do some scouting because we heard there were bandits in the area.”

“Wish you had gotten here sooner,” the girl mumbled.

“I know. Me too.” The words caught in her throat. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Dorothea?” Ashe appeared in the mouth of the alley. “Were you talking to—oh. Hello there.”

The girl scowled at him. “Are you Ashe?”

The question caught him off-guard. “That’s me,” he said, crouching down next to Dorothea. “What’s your name? Are you by yourself?”

The girl’s gaze flicked between them. “Rowan.” She turned to the pile of crates and whispered, “Sage. Come here.”

One of the crates shifted, and a small boy with curly hair and dirt smeared across his cheeks crawled out and shuffled up next to Rowan. She wrapped her arms protectively around his shoulders. “This is my baby brother, Sage.”

“Is it just you two?” Dorothea asked gently.

Rowan nodded.

“You know, I have a little brother too. And a little sister,” Ashe said. “What you did here, hiding with your little brother and keeping him safe like that—that’s incredibly brave of you. I know it wasn’t easy. None of this was.”

Rowan said nothing, but a few tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped onto Sage’s head.

Getting to her feet, Dorothea crossed the distance between them and crouched down so she was at eye-level with Rowan. “It’s okay to let yourself cry, darling. You’ve been forced to be brave and grown up for far too long.”

A sob erupted from the girl, and she surged forward and clung to Dorothea’s neck. Dorothea wrapped an arm around her and shifted slightly so she could hold a sniffling Sage with the other.

“You’re more than welcome to come back with us to the monastery,” Ashe said. “You’ll be kept safe and warm there. And you can meet our friends and our professor and Purr Gawain and all the other animals. What do you say?”

Rowan simply nodded, her head tucked against Dorothea’s neck.

On the far edge of town, they found an empty one-room farmhouse that smelled strongly of fresh wood and varnish, waiting for a new resident that would likely never arrive. After getting the children settled in for the evening with a pile of scavenged blankets, Dorothea and Ashe retreated to the porch with their own blankets to wait for the storm to pass and for the first light of dawn so they could signal the professor.

Dorothea watched the rain cascade from the eaves to the ground below. “Do you ever have one of those moments where you feel like despite the years, despite the progress you’ve made, you never really escaped the place you grew up in?”

“All too well, unfortunately,” Ashe said as he fiddled with a lantern, trying to light it. “There’s a weird sort of familiarity about this place that I can’t shake even though I’ve never been here before. The scent of death and fire, the silence in the wake of a reaper, the cold empty streets.” Finally, he gave up and set the lantern aside. “I saw those two kids cowering in the alley, and suddenly it was like I was a little kid again with my siblings staring at me, wondering what happened to our parents, wondering why I couldn’t bring back enough food for all three of us. And even after all that wondering, even now, years later, they never asked how I met Lonato.”

“What happened?”

His gaze was distant. “I broke into his manor. Tried to steal a few jewels to sell so I could buy some food and clothes for my siblings. And I was caught by Lonato, and rather than have me arrested, he took us in, raised us as his own.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Meeting Lonato? Never. I owe everything I am today to him. Stealing from innocent people who had families of their own to feed? I regret it every day.”

She laced and unlaced her fingers. Years of using lightning magic had left faint scars that forked and branched along her hands. “I’ve always believed that regret shapes how you move forward, but it doesn’t change the past one bit. You did whatever you had to in order to protect your siblings. It’s wonderful that you are willing to own up to and atone for your past mistakes, but do not apologize for surviving, because it is by far the most difficult thing one can do.”

Ashe blinked and looked at her, searching her face for an answer. “You didn’t join Mittelfrank right after your mother’s death, did you?”

She grabbed the abandoned lantern and snapped her fingers, summoning a wisp of fire magic. “No.” She smiled faintly. “Sort of funny, isn’t it? Another Crestless commoner, another street orphan. I lived on the streets of Enbarr for several years until Manuela overheard me singing one day. I stole from other people who had nothing to their name. I begged for money from nobles who hated me. I ate from the garbage and slept in alleys so I could survive to the next day just to do it all over again. I snapped the arm of a man who tried to lay a hand on me. I sweet talked a nobleman I despised to pay my entrance fee for Academy.” Her voice grew soft. “I joined the professor and the Crown Prince of Faerghus in a war against my old friends in hopes of helping others who have suffered, but I’ve only stood by and watched as hundreds of people died unnecessary deaths. But I can’t change any of that, can I? I can only move forward.”

A rumbling sigh rolled through the clouds, shaking the ground.

“Who are you exactly are you trying to convince here?” he asked. “Me? Or yourself?”

The flame caught and held steady. She flicked the little window shut and set the lantern in between them. “Hard to say really.”

“Do you remember that day in the cathedral after Lonato’s death?” Ashe asked after a long moment. “I’ve wondered for years what made you approach me when no one else did, and today, I think I finally understand—you must’ve looked at me and seen yourself.”

“I suppose that’s true, in a way, but I think, deep down, my intentions weren’t anywhere as noble as you make them out to be.”

“What do you mean?”

Lightning flickered across the sky, revealing the ashen world around them for a moment before shadows once again rushed in to reclaim the land. “When we first met, I was somewhat fascinated by you and your relationship with Lonato, but there was also this vile, ugly part of me that was horribly jealous of what you had. And after his death, I felt so guilty for thinking that way, I just had to reach out to you to make myself feel better. It was really quite self-serving.”

He frowned, a skeptical look flickering across his face. “You say that, but those are very human feelings. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, try and convince you that your feelings don’t matter.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Heard that from a friend. She gives good advice. I just wish she would speak to herself with as much kindness as she does to others.”

She smiled faintly and shook her head. “It would be frighteningly easy to sharpen those feelings into a weapon to wield against others, don’t you think?

“Believe me, I know.” He sighed and leaned back. “That day in the cathedral, there was some dark part of me that saw you trying to help me, and rather reach out for the hand you extended to me, it just wanted to see you suffer the same way I was suffering, as if that would make the pain any easier to deal with. But that’s no way to live. Why should I add to the cruelty of the world when there’s already so much?”

“The world could certainly use more kind, chivalrous souls like yours, Sir Ashe.”

The tips of his ears pinked, but then he tilted his head and grinned. “It has you, doesn’t it?”

She opened her mouth to retort but quickly shut it, unable to find a suitable response, and instead opted for a shake of her head and a small smile.

“You guys talk too loud,” came a tired voice from the doorway. Rowan had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the hem trailing behind her. She raised her arm, revealing Sage tucked under her elbow like a duckling.

“We’re sorry for waking you,” Dorothea said, moving the lantern to the side so the children could plop down in between them.

Rowan let out a disapproving hum that broke into a yawn halfway through. “What were you talking about?” she asked. Sage leaned against her shoulder, his eyelids already drifting shut.

The corners of Ashe’s mouth quirked up, and he shot Dorothea a glance over their heads. “Chivalry and such,” he said. “Do you two know who Sir Loog is?”

“Not really. His name’s kinda dumb though.”

Dorothea burst out laughing as Ashe sputtered briefly at the gross slander of his beloved childhood hero. “I think he’s planning on telling you guys a story.”

Sage’s eyes popped open and he sat up. “A story?” he asked, his voice raspy.

“Yes, indeed!” Ashe said. “About one of the greatest knights who ever lived.”

Ashe regaled them with tales of the exploits of Loog late into the night, often acting out various scenes with the assistance of Dorothea, and when those tales were spent, they came up with new stories of their own. As the two crossed imaginary swords, travelled through far-off lands, and saved the day time and time again, the storm faded into a drizzle, and then gave away to a cloudless night, the full moon bathing everything in a soft white glow.


End file.
